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- Location:United States, New York, Huntington Station
- Mood:indescribable
- Music:street noise & birds
So moved, I wrote Mr. Georgiades the following e-mail. Maybe he'll respond. Maybe not, it sort of does not matter. It was good to reconnect with my reunion feelings, and better still to write.
This morning, after shuttling my child to fifth grade, I returned home to tidy the weekend 'spreadlam' of livingroom Lego and Sunday paper sectionry. It was blessed serendipity to find your gem of an essay at the back of yesterday's NY Times Magazine. Honestly, it moved me to tears.
I was given up for adoption at birth, though my first mom visited me at Lenox Hill hospital for six months until I was healthy enough to be signed over to foster care. Single and 20 she was free to move about the rest of her life, and she did. I was adopted at 13 months. Forty-two years later we re-met over the phone late one night. I had just divorced, moved twice, completed graduate school and received my teaching masters - the same degree she received, at the same age years before.
Our first conversation lasted two hours. The parallels were uncanny (they still unfold with unexpected quirk and startling familiarity). Most striking that first phone call was the sound of my voice on the other end of the line. When she picked up and said, "Hello?" my breath stopped a little It was me. The knowing that moment was a deep physical "Yes." There was no doubt I'd found the right person. The closing line in your essay says it perfectly, "Oh, there you are." Yes.
Eighteen years of intermittant searching led me to find her, my three half siblings (we share the same mother), and my birth father, who, after one phone conversation five years ago on my 40th, bade me to "...have a good life and thanks for calling" and that was that. I know who he is and have Googled him, his other children (my siblings, I suppose) and relations but I've made no further contact... we all look so much alike.
The rest of us, my birth mother and her other children, have been developing our relationships bit by bit. They are in Boston, we live on L.I. We visit once a year there, average; sometimes more. It has been grounding for me to reconnect. Slow going, however, and since there is no script no one really knows what to say or do or what is "normal" or right.
I wonder what it would have been like to grow up with them, with her as a mother. To live on an indian reservation in Montana for several years because our mom read an article in National Geographic about people who wanted a library and a school but had no money, so she simply moved us there to help. I have included myself imaging all of us returning east to attend Harvard, (like her other three). In reality, a midwestern women's college is my alma mater.
Who would I be - if I learned, played, dated, wandered and loved through New England (with Thanksgivings in Maine) - if I didn't grow up here on "Lawn Guyland"? Maybe I wouldn't love sailing, or the ocean, or Oregon. Some of the birth family parallels are excellent confirmations of who I am organically. But some of them point rudely, almost cruelly, to how I 'should have' been rather than who I turned out to be, so far. There is still time to relearn, I think.
The counterpart to this good stuff is that despite being nice, educated, loving people my adoptive parents and sibling (younger, natural to them) have adopted something else: woundedness as a result of my find. They don't get 'the whole birth family thing'. They don't understand how my daughter can refer to my birth mom as "grandma" without resevation or suspicion. And greater irony still, or a greater wound perhaps, is that I was able to conceive my own child; my adoptive sister can not. Very recently she became an adoptive parent herself, and because of this new baby, someone else's "real" baby, there has been a slight shift.
Thank you for starting my week in such a thought provoking way, with such a personal and beautiful essay.
I've torn it out and hung it above my desk.
I may even send it to my first mom.
- Location:Home office. Land of the Free.
- Mood:Good. Busy. Creative.
- Music:muffled WFUV from downstairs
I've 'done' therapy and found it worked best as a place to acquire skills or tools, if you will. Get me some new tools, go into the world, try 'em out... If they worked I didn't return to therapy for a while. If they didn't work - or if I wasn't working them - I'd head back to the therapist for another go. Once I chewed away at the really big stuff therapy was all about tool-sharpening and skills acquisition. You might call it "maintenance."
With my current schedule what it is office appointment therapy sessions are out of the question. So, instead, I read. Two of the more helpful books I've listed below. (Both are quite good, well written. I'm reading the second one again, and read the notes I highlighted in the first to remind me not to make knee-jerk choices when it comes to relationships - any - not just romantic. This part is pretty easy as I'm not "invovled" at the moment.)
Too Good to Leave, Too Bad to Stay: A Step-by-Step Guide to Help You Decide Whether to Stay In or Get Out of Your Relationship (Paperback)
by Mira Kirshenbaum (Author)
Codependent No More: How to Stop Controlling Others and Start Caring for Yourself (Paperback)
by Melody Beattie
The reading helps. I like the pace of reading and being able to go back and re-read.
Therapy helped, too. Sometimes after a session I'd sit in my car and write like crazy (that's funny), reiterating the entire hour so I could remember the revelations, learn, and heal.
A good therapist will challenge you to see and hopefully accept all the parts of yourself, even the ones you keep ignoring... It took a while but I learned my ignored bits were expert troublemakers, and they purposely got in the way (or were put in the way <ahem>) to keep me in a familiar cycle of whatever-it-was I was ultimately trying to change. The thing no one ever tells you is that a good therapist is a guide - they don't do the work. You do. So if you're not experiencing "results" don't blame your therapist. Blame yourself.
Therapy is hard. It has been said the more you are willing to dig and haul out the rotting, irritating, under-shit that is literally eating away at you, the better off you will be. You know - like the eggplant you forgot in the crisper drawer...? Yeah, that stuff.
Deep, honest introspection can be ugly, humiliating, mind-numbing and darkly depressing. It exposes you. It can wreck you for days - weeks - especially when you slam into a nerve you didn't know existed... or were ignoring. Especially when you're finally facing stuff you are afraid of or indignant to change in the first place. Ideas, beliefs, behaviors, reasonings (or lack of any of those things).
Back in my 20's I had a lot of ignored bits. There were a few biggies in my 30's that needed face-offs, too.
The funky thing is that when I shoved my head back under the sand to keep ignoring stuff, there they all were: staring back at me from the dark. Big, HUGE, white eyes like in a cartoon when the scene suddenly plunges into pitch black ,and only the character's eyeballs are lobbing about the screen. Eventually I couldn't run, they couldn't hide, and I was literally sick of being in so much pain all the time, stuck in relationship after relationship that I could not save, be loved in or enjoy: I finally, blessedly reached The End. Something had to change - and, ultimately what happened is that I made the decision to let go of what no longer worked, what hurt me or tried to. This included people - family, lovers, friends; ideas about myself and who I was. The words "just" and "supposed" were examined closely.
The letting go was terrifying because when we get rid of something - anything - it leaves a void. We fear change and being or feeling different. The unfamiliar is awfully scary territory.
But you learn.
... when you have spaces, other (better) things come in. Things you can choose - and that feels pretty good. New, yes, but good, too. (When you clean out the garage and you can finally put your car in there... so change isn't always so complicated or daunting but it does require effort.)
You have to trust the process, trust yourself, find your intuition again (because it's still in there) and keep going. You learn.
Trust and allow change and healing to happen, even if it's a few baby steps at a time.
OX
- Location:Home, Sweet.
- Mood:Happy, centered.
- Music:The wind blowing outside.
Three weeks ago, in a fairly unprecedented move, I posted an ad on Craig's List.
I've done this before, mind you.
In the Rants & Raves section I've snarled about politics, The Ex, and other tedium); in "Free Stuff" and "For Sale" I've scoured and discovered cheap-but-nifty furniture (scored two related, gorgeous, near-brand new, high-end living room pieces - overstuffed - for a song... a very cheap song); and I've posted "Seeking" ads under real estate.
These relationships, if you will, have all been self-serving and defined by my needs at that moment: needed a new home quick; desired furniture for that new unfurnished home; succumbed to mindless, well-written (if I do say so myself) venting on the appropriate board. They've all been quite mutually satisfying pair-offs: open, honest, no bite marks, no snarky morning-after banter, no egos were jabbed, and no, "I'll call you....".
(When I'm feeling really obtuse, it's moderately fun to read other people's nonsense especially in Rants & Raves. Geez, people get REALLY angry and, apparently, anger begets poor spelling, grammar snags and a lot of really awesome foul language mixed with a general lack of common sense. Go see for yourself - why take my word? Here's the 'rnr' for New York City: Rants & Raves. )
But the ad I posted wasn't for furniture or a house or to give someone hell about something, or to give something away (except maybe my fear of the unknown).
My ad was for a date. A strictly platonic date, and it went like this:
Strictly Platonic:
Seeking Date for Afternoon Business Party - Jan 27th - w4m - 44
This Sunday afternoon, my employer's family is throwing a birthday party for their father who turns an elder age this week. I was invited to bring "someone special... if you have one." Well, currently I don't.
The party hosts graciously invited the staff from our office, and everyone with whom I work is married and bringing their spouse. (With the exception of one or two older persons who are happily un-partnered.)So, in this New Year, armed with my You-Only-Live-Once resolution I throw this out to CL.
I'm a 5'8", average redhead (natural), with a good sense of humor, manners, college educated (BFA, MA); excellent speaking voice, who knows how to present herself appropriately.
You would be another business-person-type or perhaps a teacher or writer who is looking for something to do (not to mention unusual. Can we venture to say the hazard potential of this is HUGE? On the other hand the upside could be stellar.)
You're in a suite and tie, and for volunteering your date-only services (which do not include sex and/or PDAs) you will receive a good Kosher mean amongst some very nice folks, and definitely an unusual story to tell.
Party is in Nassau County, north shore, at a Kosher restaurant (good reviews from what I've read), from 1PM - 4:30 PM or earlier if they haul out the cake sooner.No strings. No follow-up expectations. No pay (except the experience!)"
----------------------------------
Nevermind I was hoping for a tall man.
An educated, presentable, nice looking man, unmarried (no two-timing cads).
Nevermind I had no business hoping for particulars.
The replies were as varied as chocolates in a box... or, more appropriately, as varied as the nuts in Planter's Party-Mix. They ranged in age from 29ish to 61ish; in height from an apologetic "only 5'4" but I'm all man" to "I have a great ass, here's a picture" - however tall that is. Yeah, some lifeguard-type sent me a butt-shot (self-taken) in a mirror. Nice tan lines but that was it.
I picked one from the bunch but in hindsight he really picked me. Nice reply to my post, including a picture (which I forwarded immediatley to my best friend). When I told him over the phone - during our first and only conversation the day before the party - I'd pretty much caved-in and chickened out, he said, "Oooh no. We're going. And I am going to be such a great date - you are going to love this - I am going to make you look soooo good. Trust me: You'll have a great time. C'mon, we have to go!"
And - with only a photograph, a couple E-mail stitches in a brief conversation thread - and ONE phone call - I said, "OK. We'll go." (I don't need someone to 'make' me look good but I was curious.)
(Oddly enough, it turned out my best friend knew him.) Sort of. She and her family and this guy were seated randomly together at a Masonic event last year. She vaguely recalled his face over a couple days, so when I replied to his note I mentioned I knew him "sort of..." He confirmed the facts I had and yes it was him. We agreed he'd pick me up at 12:15 PM the day of the party, at my front door.
He was a good date. Gentlemanly, mannered, nicely put together and handsome with a quirky something going on (personality-wise) and he smelled pretty damned good, too, when I got close enough to notice. He was tall, intelligent, and nervous enough to laugh at the whole thing.
We had fun. He remembered just about everyone's name to whom he was introduced. He did the door/chair/refil your drink thing. I enjoyed it, though unfamiliar. My co-workers were slack-jawed that I appeared with a date after a long period of self-imposed 'dating celibacy' (my term), and asked me secretly, "Where the hell did you come up with HIM?!"
We ended the date by 5:30 PM with simple handshake and it was done. "No strings. No follow-up expectations. No pay (except the experience!)"
I said I would.
- Location:Bread & Butter Factory
- Mood:Good.
- Music:chatty co-workers
To My Sister
Dear Sister:
After a month of reflection I realize not saying anything could be additionally misinterpreted and worse than saying something, so here goes.
When I called you on Thanksgiving we had a brief conversation wherein I told you where I chose to spend the holiday, with my first mom, and her friends, and one of my half-siblings in Maine. I also told you mom and dad didn’t know and that I would tell them in my own time. That you called back shortly thereafter singing a very different tune (my phone was off as I had made my holiday calls) and left such a resentful and arrogant message was pretty surprising; that you called our parents and told them where I was was just plain mean and an abuse of my trust - not to mention a touch hypocritical, don’t you think? I mean, isn’t your intention to create family by adopting a baby – who, with any luck, will grow into a child, teen, adult – who may have the exact questions many adoptees have? Is this how you'll react to that child, teen, adult when and if they have any need for inquiry or reunion?
Your reaction was, frankly, unbelievable - and I’m just your sister! Is that how you’re going to react after you sign-on to unconditionally love and raise a child you are given? How do you think that reaction would affect the person you are parenting? If Catholic Charities or another agency offers classes for potential adoptive parents I suggest you avail yourself immediately. It would benefit you and the child, not to mention adopted persons already in your family - there are several of different ages - if you gave some very serious consideration to understanding someone else’s life experience and point of view.
Here’s part of the deal about adopting; maybe you’re already aware, maybe not:
- They’ll arrive with their own personality – some of which you might not like or even understand because it’s not “you” and it won’t feel familiar.
- Do not punish them or lessen who they are because you don’t like that they’re not “you.” They might not think like you, or understand satire or wordplay or appreciate the same foods, art, literature, or sports, as you... But you must accept them for who they are as they come to you.
- And, if you paid any attention in our childhoods, you’ll know it’s not easy for some people to accept a child who isn’t like them. Qualifying children, i.e., “This is our real child and this is our adopted child” is hurtful even if you don’t think so, so don't do it. Ever. Your child is your child whether they're adopted or not. Your need to explain any difference points to your insecurities, and if you're worried what other people will think, see a therapist and deal with it.
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If your adopted child were to tell you what they’d want or need from their adoptive family it would probably be along these lines:
1. I ask for understanding from my adoptive family. They need to understand, whether I decide to search or not, at some point, I might consider myself to have two families; that I have enough love for both, and for my own children, and my friends, and any extended family(s). Understand this may happen even when I’m a small child; and the fact is that I do have two families – whether I know both or not. Don’t deny that, please.
2. I would hope my adoptive family (aka “a-family”) was not threatened or made insecure because I searched and found, and may have experienced a positive reunion with my first family or members of that family. My need to search and/or reunite is not an indication that something's wrong or lacking in my adoptive family; it’s not about you. It is my nature as an adoptee to search and ask. Understand that. If you can’t understand it, accept it anyway. It’s the loving and mature thing to do.
3. I ask for acceptance from my a-family. I want to never hear them say it was foolish of me to search, or foolish to contact, or who do I think I am to think anyone would want me back after they gave me away in the first place... (Do you have any idea how that sounds?) I want them to recognize how being adopted has made a difference in my life over time. At different times in my life it has meant significantly different things.
4. I want the right to be able to speak freely without being insulted or cold-shouldered, or belittled or spoken down to by my a-family. I want to be able to talk about what being adopted is like and for them not to take offense to the fact that it is different than their experience.
5. I would ask my a-family to understand that I’m happy I was able to reunite with my first family. It might answer some questions my a-family couldn’t possibly answer and provide some resolve or even closure to enduring questions.
6. I would hope they saw my life was enriched by finding my original family and by having that family in my life. If I have children of my own, I would hope my a-family saw how additional, loving family members enrich my child’s life, too.
7. I would ask them to know about my history, my “real” ancestry and be proud of it the way I am. I want them to be interested in that history because it shows interest in the person I am. It may be the history ancestry I share and teach to my own children, as well as yours.
8. Should it come to pass, I would hope my a-family would learn to share me with my first family. I want to have blessings to visit and share some holidays with my first family without angry, insecure repercussions, but with a loving go-ahead from my a-family. Sneaking around should not be necessary but sadly, often there is no other choice even as an adult. My behavior is often based upon my a-family’s reaction to my reunion and my choice to know my first family. But here's the problem: If I tell you up front you might make me pay for my honesty with your disapproving anger; if I tell you afterward you might accuse me of lying in the first place… so, a no-win situation is created either way based upon your reaction to my need to know.
9. Please understand I will spend a holiday here and there, and some other time, with my first family. I ask my adoptive family to refrain from trying to make me feel guilty or ashamed, or as though there's something really wrong with me as punishment for choosing to spend time with my first family. The message you’re sending says I don’t ‘fit in’ with you because I choose to recognize my origins… and that pretty much contradicts everything, doesn’t it?
If you’ve read this far, I believe you’re on the right track for your child…, and thanks.
Happy New Year.
- Location:Bread & Butter Factory
- Mood:Done. Accomplished.
- Music:Joyful heart
Since Child was away this year, I decided months ago that I would spend Thanksgiving with my First Mom and her friends (who are like family) in Maine. They do this every year; last year I couldn't see my way clear to not being with my family - the adoptive family, my parents et al and Child was home last year so we were with my family (my parents and a couple of their aging but nice friends.) Of course. No question. Dare I say it's sort of like being married and having to choose between out-laws and in-laws. Thankfully, that's not an issue. (Should I ever lose my head and marry again the holidays will be a non-issue: everyone at my/our house - leave your baggage home.)
This year, Child away, I saw myself as a 'free agent' and opted to do something completely out of character: I went my own way. Maine. First Mom. New people. New tradition? I told my folks I'd be in NYC visiting some old acting friends for the holiday...blah blah blah... Child's away, etc., etc.
Bottomline: This was one of the most memorable weekends in my life. Exhilerating, loving, empowering, wide open with acceptance, humor and wonderful company. If there was dysfunction - apart from my lying to my parents to be there in the first place - it was well cloaked. No yelling or fighting; no outrageously embarrassing drunks; no upset or egregious acts meted. It was healthy, good, fun.
So my week is off to a stellar start riding this great spiritual, lofting high. Filled and accepting the love from new friends and those who knew about me for 40+ years but never met until this weekend. All was sailing along so beautifully.
My father (and I mean my only father, my adoptive father, my Dad) called me at the office to let me know of his complete and absolute displeasure. (He'd been oddly short and brusque with me over the phone since last Wednesday and I wondered if he knew, but he never said anything. We both let it go.)
Somehow - and it's no matter how - he found out. I knew too well the anger and anxiety and perceived betrayal would be the risk - but when would we confront - and did we have to?? Would they ever know? It was a risk.
It could happen either in front, if I'd been up front and told them my plans before going; or, at the back end, like yesterday. Whavever. I knew this aspect wouldn't be pretty so I tried putting if off as long as possible (the lie). The rest, them finding out, was part of the risk. Poorly calculated as it was.
My father's, along with my sister's, reaction was so far over the top of a "normal" Dad and Sister reaction that I was actually speechless. (Doesn't happen often.)
My father segued the opening topic of yesterday's call (something about a future Family Court date) into a harsh and angry, “And WE need to talk.... I know for a fact you did not go into the city this weekend. I know for a fact you were in Maine. With your BIRTHmother and her FAMILY..." and he continued to spit, literally, out those words he couldn't swallow any more. "It was a FAMILY day and you chose to ....." I'd stopped hearing by then. Numbness was about the only thing going on. Another Trial of the Family Scapegoat. Another "who's worse than whom" episode. My fault. Everything has always been my fault. Pitiful, really. And untrue.
Mostly, I listened to him for what seemed to be long time but was only a few moments. I was stunned when he hung up. He told me knew "for a fact" I went to
"I'm sorry you feel that way, Dad, I really am...."
"WELL I DO FEEL THAT WAY! and I'm coming over tomorrow night after I get my hair cut. You're going to know how I feel about this!"
"Dad, I can hear how you feel about this, exactly how. I don't need to hear any more. You've made that quite clear. And I'm singing tomorrow night and won't be home until very late and Child would be there. Honestly, I don't need to hear anymore."
- not versed in people with boundaries, he paused a bit... then,
"Why don't you spend Christmas in Maine, too? Good. Bye."
And he hung up.
I'm free.
The frequent saying in recovery programs - bastardized here because I don't know the accurate wording - is even if you were never the one with the problem/issue/addiction, the healthier you become, the more upset and scared the other people in your circle/family become. They're going to be left with their problems and as you move on - literally or figuratively - they don't have you to use/blame/be angry with anymore.
I have always been the Family Scapegoat - capitalized here for the respect due me for a lifetime of eating shit served with a monogrammed silver spoon. And, yes, I love them. Dearly. For all their flaws, and for all of mine, they are my family. But, I cannot save them nor can I make them whole, or stop the drinking or mend and re-vamp the passionless marriage that is theirs. I can't make my sister fertile, or give my father a backbone or stop him from enabling my mother's destructive alcoholism. I can't make them understand my need to search for my biological mother / family, and I will not continue any further explaining myself. It's pointless.
Funny how they adopted a stranger's baby into their lives to show them they weren't doing so well after all.
I'm not calling back. I'm sorry they hurt. Maybe someday they'll find their way to forgiving me for several things: being adopted and not like them (this makes me laugh), and for searching, finding, and exploring that part of my history.
More, it's bothersome knowing my sister (natural to my parents) and brother in law (natural to his parents) are approved-by and listed-with Catholic Charities as potential adoptive parents. How will they handle this very issue should (when) their (adopted) child has the same needs? For that child's sake one can only hope they don't react this way.
- Location:Bread & Butter Factory
- Mood:Busy.
- Music:Making up my mind. It's loud.
Telling your boss you think he's a fucking jackass is one example.
Getting married on the spur of the moment because you won someone's hand in a bet is another.
Around here, so is driving without a seatbelt.
And so is passing on a 40+ year traditional Thanksgiving dinner with your adoptive parents and close family friend, when your own child is away (visitation stipulation), and choosing to spend the holiday with your Birth Mother, a younger half-brother and his family and their long-time friends (who are like family in every way). In Maine. You drive 6.5 hours and 300+ miles straight through the foggiest of nights to be there. And you don't actually tell your parents what you're doing but casually serve up some fib / white lie that you've decided to spend the holiday with "old acting friends in the city." You know... since your kid is away and all... (and you know your parents can take care of themselves), etc, etc, etc.
I have no idea if I managed to get away with this because something tells me my father knows I was not, in fact, "in the city."
I wasn't: I was in Maine. Mt. Vernon, Maine to be exact.
And every bit of this weekend, starting with pulling out of my driveway with less than $50 in my pocket, arriving there well after 3AM Thanksgiving morning, and coming home by 9:15PM tonight was bliss. Pure. Deliberately consumed, luxurious, sweater and fireplace, sweet, homecoming bliss.
Maybe I will write more later, maybe I won't. But this weekend I gave Thanks every minute of every hour and will continue my gratitude until it becomes part of my core. My First (Birth) Mom is a remarkable - and not just because she had me; she is a gracious and thoughtful person who mothered three additional children; I am her eldest. She is a good friend and honors her friendships with her attention and love.
She is a clear example of living for yourself and doing what your heart says it must do rather than doing something for the almighty paycheck - she jokes about having to raise herself as her mother died when she was 16 or so; awful. And she is creative, full of ideas and would like to see me get away from "that office job" and into something where I can and will use my talents... she believes in me. Her support and love shows in her other children too: they're all out in the world doing very nicely and seem quite happy with the way things, in general, have turned out. I want to feel that way about my life, too, and I'm beginning to understand that my First Mom is doing that organically, naturally: she's nurturing in me what she can see I have. It's something I haven't really experienced before, at this level; that is not meant as a slight to my adoptive mother in any way.
She believes in me like only my child, best friend, and - on better days - I do. She sees what there is to use and she's guiding me, subtly, with suggestions and conversations that stir my head toward a place that uses "me" - the parts that are only used once or twice a year. Uncanny that she sees this so clearly.
So, my last Thanksgiving Prayer would align with my appreciation and endless gratitude for all these things: mothering and being mothered; creating and being gifted with creative abilities and talents; safe travel and new experiences, the courage to do so, and lastly, the good sense to absorb it all.
But I ask one thing for myself, as uncomfortable as it feels to ask for anything, ever: Please give me direction for I am without a rudder and have these wonderful sails and vast bodies of waters to discover - but I would like direction, please, a rudder and centerboard, too, to keep me headed in the right direction.
Tonight, I fall into my huge, high bed wrapped in the sweet blankets of this weekend. Cloaked in the knitting embraces from my 'new' family members, and taller from using listening to my soul when it said: "Go. Take Leave. Have courage and just go. You're a 44 year old grown woman. You're going to do things that piss people off: so what. They can deal with it... can YOU? I dare you: Go. Just be yourself and stop worrying."
I'll do it again. Watch me.
- Location:Home - where the heart is.
- Mood:Happy. Happy.
- Music:None.
